Story
by awesomelydivergent
Summary: Ever since I could remember, there has never been a home for me. It was a structure, that yes, could house all my needs and myself, but it wasn't a home. The little moments which were surges of happiness, were only temporary, made me wishing I could have lived in a different place. A happier place. My story.
1. I

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

**Chapter 1**

**Tris POV**

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><p><em>"Right now, I'm following the Buddhist principle: Smile as abuse is hurled your way and this too shall pass."<em>

_-Ashwarya Rai Bachchan_

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><p>Ever since I could remember, there has never been a home for me. It was a structure, that yes, could house all my needs and myself, but it wasn't a home.<p>

The little moments which were surges of happiness, were only temporary, made me wishing I could have lived in a different place. A happier place.

My story.

The details of birth went past me, a long time ago. There was an air of depression and sadness around me, and much neglect. Of course, these things were prohibited in Abnegation, and so was the broken glass of the bottle smashed against the wall. However there was no one to tell, and I had no reason to anyways, at the time. Sometimes, I would try to hold in the little yelps of pain that emitted from me as I walked over the dangerous shards of glass, to see if I could handle the pain. On those days my father smelled of gruff and sin, I knew better than to bother him.

My father loved me, always had. He was not the problem, but his neglect towards my brother and I was just the root of it. Little snippets of conversations used to play over and over in my head, I could not help the severe complications and the aftermath of it. Maybe he was just telling me all that, to convince himself that I was worthy of his affection, for him to keep me in the house. I am not worthy.

It never did me any good. Quiet whispers in my ears, or the momentary bursts of anger when he would squeeze my already fragile and tiny arms, was someone who was supposed to be caring for me. There for me. Support me. Not tear my whole life apart.

My brother was only 11 months older than me, but he never let me forget it. It was his duty to constantly remind us of his hatred towards me. How it was all my fault. The bitterness of it all was too much for me, that I began to tune out at times, thinking of happier thoughts, dreams, wishes.

The kids in my faction, even the ones of other factions, all walked with smiles on their faces, while mine was tight-lipped. I didn't blame my father for being the man that he was. He was very in love with my mother, and it surprises me how he accepts me and loves me.

After all, I am a murderer. A self-indulgent, inconsiderate, monster. And he hates me for it.

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><p>Father laid passed out on the gray sofa, his drool would stain it soon enough, but I was too young at the time to worry about such things. Caleb was always the more intelligent one, I was the stupid, unaware, and useless one, he would say.<p>

My brother tiptoed over, snapping his fingers in front of my father, and turned around setting his eyes on me. I knew Caleb had a fond distaste of me, but I didn't understand why.

Out for the night, Caleb knew I was vulnerable and defenseless, so he made no attempts to shush me as he pinched his fingers into my flesh. He knew I would not scream, I was incapable of doing so. The deep-rooted abnegation motto prohibited me from letting out a single shriek, and Caleb threw me up the stairs, dragging my body painfully against the carpet and into my bedroom. I was seven at the time, old enough to understand big brothers were not supposed to hurt their little sisters.

But that is exactly what he did. And at the end of it all, I was a bit more number than before, and a tiny pool of dark red liquid sopped up at my feet. And more so often than not, he returned every day at the same time my father would leave the world mourning for hours, and eventually I pieced together why Caleb detested me.

I killed my mother through birth, but in his eyes, I took her down and got to live in her place.

Threats here and there, around the corner waiting to snag at me, it became the norm. The supply of the numerous alcoholic beverages would never cease to exist, and mountained over our tiled floor in the kitchenette.

"I'm watching you Beatrice." A slap echoed off my stinging cheek.

"I hate you." Punch. Then he kneed me in the stomach as he pinned me to the floor and finally whispered,

"Selfish." One final glare, followed by kicks, fists, and my hair being pulled out in various areas stretching across my head, he finally slammed the door shut behind him and pounded down the stairs.

Just as I thought it was over, Caleb's feet thundered up the planks making up the stairs and burst through the door, carrying a plastic grocery bag overwhelmed with all its contents.

I could only guess it to be fragile like me, as he threw it onto the bed instead of the wooden floor. "Cover it up, not a single scratch." His voice was so stern yet quiet, managing to scare me beyond comprehension.

As he left for good, I rummaged through the bag, in hopes of finding food, Caleb cut off my meals and I haven't eaten a good solid meal for months.

Instead, were packs of guaze, with white tape to hold it in place. I knew enough from watching other Abnegation help the factionless treat their wounds, to know Caleb wanted me to experience as much pain as possible. No MD would use the contents of the bag on a wound, but Caleb couldn't care less.

Clicking the door locked, of course if it comes to it he could bust it down, but it was all the hope I could hold on to. Peeling the gray clothing off me that was stuck on me with sweat and blood was a bit of a challenge, and I was lucky enough to have my own bathroom.

Gritting my teeth, I climbed into the tub with the bag, and unscrewed the cap to the isopropanol, and dabbed a bit on a large gash above my knee, the chemical sizzled and was the most unpleasant feeling, but I knew I needed to clean the wound before an infection was set in place.

Once more, I spread a little over an open cut above my cheekbone, and bit my lip to prevent a guttural moan. Isoprpanol is the last thing I should be using, as it can kill many of my white blood cells, but an infection would be much worse.

It wouldn't be so bad, I don't doubt the likeabilities of ingesting methyl alcohol to escape this lie of a life, where brothers hurt their sisters, and fathers don't give a damn about their children, or mothers that are non-existant. A short period of time of painful death would be much better than the life I am living. Just one swig of methanol could end it all.

But the bottle I so tightly grip in my hand is not wood grain alcohol, is not denatured alcohol either, and cannot guarantee death. So I finally begin to let the dam of tears crack open, and I sob quietly, asking for ease and comfort. For an involved father, a loving brother.

A mother.

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><p>The constant drinking aged my father, but every Abnegation seemed content with ignoring the fine lines that appeared on his face, that grew into much deeper lines. His teeth yellowed, and there was a permanent smell of gruff and sin about, but it was deemed okay because my supposed Abnegation father was selfless to the point where his children were less important than the new drainage pipes being built near the factionless center. But it was fine. No one cared.<p>

There was no safe haven for me, Caleb was watching me everywhere at every single moment. At home, I was victim to his physical abuse, at school mental, and he would never let me out of his sight. I envied the sight of all my peers happily reunited with their siblings and parents, a complete set, at the end of the school day, while Caleb's locked gaze burned through the back of my head as we would walk home together, being the model selfless Abnegation children.

He would always know when to smile at our elders, come up a lie on the spot. It was sickening.

My father's health had deteriorated over the months and years, and I couldn't help but watch as he fell into the hole he was digging for his grave. Of course, death is always impending, but for him, it would come on him when he least expect it.

However, the classes which I was not being intently watched by Caleb in, I rose in academics and showed up the Erudites. It never occurred to me that intelligence was a possible aptitude for me, and I never thought about pursuing it.

But I was not selfless, nor intelligent.

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><p>"And you're sure you just fell?" The school nurse, an overweight Amity woman with frumped eyebrows and a troubled expression looked to see any signs of truth, but I stared back blankly. I knew Caleb would not be pleased at all if I relieved anything of what happened behind closed doors.<p>

One of the more humane teachers noticed a large bruise on the backside of my shin when I fell, and I was forced to go to the nurse. Perhaps if I told the woman before me of all my secrets, I could be free of Caleb. But that was merely impossible, all fingers would be pointed at Andrew Prior.

He never lived up to a fatherly figure in my eyes, but I would be damned if anyone was blamed and injustly punished for Caleb's wrongdoings. At eight and three quarters years old, I was excelling beyond standards in the fourth grade. And besides this little fact, I was just a plain face that blended in with a crowd of gray and ignorant eyes. Maybe they knew, and decided this would be my punishment for my selfishness. Nothing mattered to me, to me, the most important thing was getting through today.

I was never keen on planning ahead, just far enough to make it to tomorrow. I had a goal in front of me I needed to fulfill, so I addressed the lady in yellow standing afore me, in the most convincing manner, "Ms., I'm fine. I tripped over, but nothing is hurt, honest." A few seconds passed, and with an uneasy feeling, she tapped her chest and brought her lips close to my ear and said,

"I'm going to have to let you go, but you can come back if it gets worse."

I immediately stiffen, she suspects something if anything. Quickly before she has a change of thought, I jump to my legs and brisk walk out and back to my classroom. I don't dare turn around as I feel a pair of beady eyes on my back as I run back to room 147, and ignore the gazes and catcalls as I pace towards my desk, tuning out my surroundings unto the teacher.

Lesson after lesson, I finish all my worksheets, and begin my homework- changing mixed numbers into improper fractions, and into decimals. An unchallenging task, and I submit it to Mr. Noya, and take a crack at completing the study sheet for my upcoming Ecology test, an array of sorts of scattered questions pertaining to the Animal Kingdom. From biomass to amphibians, science has always been my favorite subject.

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><p>The walk home as normal, is well, disturbing. As the years have gone by, the cracks in the tar roads grow wider, and do not stop because of the lack of reconstruction in this particular sector of the city. The sky is a dingy blue, the air filled with ash and soot, and I think back to the times my family went apple picking in Amity as a form of volunteering. The air was so fresh, its faction members each with a smile painted beautifully on their faces.<p>

I fish a bland key out of my zipped pocket, and jimmy it into the lock, swinging our door open. My brother brushes passed me, ignoring my presence, and I am grateful for it. Caleb marches up the stairs into his room, to do his homework perhaps. Instead of following suite, I stick around the formal living room, and repose on our couch, thinking about the events of today, not suspecting the return of my brother downstairs.

Minutes, maybe hours pass by, and I venture up the simple planks latched as stairs, into my bedroom. I begin to tidy it up, throwing wrappers out and straightening up the large chair.

I should have been less careless, I didn't think. It didn't occur to me that there was a realm besides the one that in which Caleb would only come into my room on specific days of the week. I was frozen still in my spot when my door creaked open instilling subconscious fear in me. My feet stood rooted onto the paneled floors as Caleb marched to me.

On his face was a scowl, and he grabbed the collar of my shirt and hoisted me so I was face to face with him. I feel the pound of his breath on me,"Beatrice," he says condescendingly, "What did you learn today?" He literally spat. Does he know of my encounter with an adult who almost learned of the abuse?

"W-We learned about homophones and invertebrates today." I choke out. This took a twist in the usual, talking never takes place with him around. It's always his fist on me, my heart pounds faster. How does this question pertain to...anything?

A sly grin forms on his face, all fourth grade classes have the same curriculum plan and he uses this to his advantage, "What did you learn in health today?"

Oh no. Not health, my least favorite class of all. Though many of the students are well acquainted with the concept of intimacy, abnegation like me are not. I turn a blood red blush and hold back on the embarrassing answer. Caleb can't be serious can he?

He barks unpleasantries in my ear for my subdued reply and demands me to answer him, "We...learned about. Um, reproduction." Where is he going with this?

"And how does that happen?" If anyone asked me to talk or even write about this topic, I would clam up, unable to answer. Almost nine years of life without a womanly figure in my life, I had been blinded to the reproductive system, and my father never tread near the subject leaving me to learn in school of this. Maybe I am the only one that has the feeling, to feel weirded out at the fact that this is where all humans come from, and is accepted everywhere, and no one is ashamed to have "done the dirty". I will never fit in with society.

Caleb brings me out of my thoughts and I slowly inhale and exhale a response, "When a man and woman have intercourse." That is as simple, brief, yet detailed as I will go on the manner. I will not bother explaining how the process works, because this whole unit in health disgusts me, but the date of the test on all this frightens me even more. The images and clips all shown in class to be educational for us, I would look down in my lap, or doodle on my forearm and pull my sleeve down if anyone were to look.

He smiles sadistically, and just when I think he's about to let go and march back out, he tightens his grip and I let out a wail, "That's right." I am not stupid. No matter what he says, I am not stupid. But I don't have a plan to put into action and a sheen of sweat forms on my forehead at the possibility of what Caleb is thinking. So as he practically throws me unto my gray bedspread, I have a faint idea of what he plans. Of all the possible ways to torture me, I can't stomach it. I can't.

Physical harassment is different, as is mental and verbal abuse. But I. Won't. Take. This.

Sexual harassment is a violation as the rest are, but it is permanently damaging. A woman can not easily get over a man taking advanatage of her, because of such simple things like our body part differences. I will not allow Caleb to do this, it sickens me.

Once, Caleb had the flu with his body temperature of 102 degrees. On my solitary way back home that long ago, I remember seeing a factionless man drag a dusty and beat-up middle-aged woman into an ally where I heard screams and curses and threats. At the time, I thought nothing more of it when I was able to scurry past the scene and climb into my bed into safety. I take in a sharp breath when I realize Caleb is doing the same thing.

I will not let Caleb victimize me today.

In desperation, my eyes search the area around me to find anything useful, or anything at all to get Caleb off me. The little extravagants the Abnegation allow included a large ugly dirt-gray lamp on my plain and tiny bedside table, and with a surge of energy, I reached my arm back and clutch tightly unto it, smashing Caleb's head with it, it's sharp edge coming in contact with the crown of his head.

He lets out a high-pitched shriek, and with full-fledged speed, I nail him in the nuts, repeatedly, but just as always, he overpowers me. I can't think of anything as I try to shove him off me, kicking at him in the abdomen and anywhere else, as the wet tears pour out of my eyes, my body refuses to accept defeat, but my brain knows he is more powerful than me, and that my father is out at the office today.

Caleb lets out a grunt, and uses his knuckles to punch me once, twice, three times, and bashes my skull with the now-incinerated bedside lamp. A dark liquid oozes from the side of my head, and black spots crawl into my peripheral vision.

Then everything turns black.


	2. II

**AN: ****Reproduction would never be taught to fourth graders, however most ten year olds in the fourth grade, although they do not learn it in school, know what reproduction is. And, as an author, I have a creative license, if the previous reason was not good enough to explain why I did that in the previous chapter.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own anything.<strong>

**Chapter 2**

**Tris POV**

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><p><em>"Romantic love is a mental illness. But it's a pleasurable one. It's a drug. It distorts reality, and that's the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw."<em>

_-Fran Lebowitz_

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><p>A day passes, and I finally arouse myself, barely able to lift my head up from the unbearable pounding in my head, almost as a hammer. It takes a few seconds for me to readjust myself and gain the feeling in my fingers, and I begin to stretch them out, and claw off the pieces of blood mixed in with something else from under my finger nails. There is a rotting smell surrounding me, but I am not dead, unfortunately. Although, everything around me suggests it. But really, is moping and abused considered a life?<p>

My mind goes back to the problem at hand. I am well aware of what happened, especially without my consent.

I was violated. By my own brother. It's not just physical pain and mental abuse I have to endure anymore, now a third more powerful form of torture is hurled my way. Will it ever end?

My hair is matted and oily, pasted onto my head by blood and another sticky substance I really do not want to think about. My vision is swimming, and my toes crunch as I wiggle them. How long have I been out for?

Sluggishly, I prop my arms unto the sides of my bed, and push myself up onto my feet. Every footstep I take, sends a rumble through my body, and I must lean unto the walls and various furniture throughout my room to get to my bathroom. Quietly, I shut the door clicking it locked, and slide my back against the door. I can't bring myself to cry for what happened, maybe from shock, or just denial. I don't know.

However, I do know one thing. I don't want to even think of how my brother violated me in ways unimaginable, because it hurts too much. So I get to work.

After lifting one leg into the tub, I haul the rest of my used body in, and am barely able to hold myself together. Sitting on the counter adjacent to the tub, I extend my arm over, my muscles are on fire. Getting my fingers used to the feeling, I stretch them out, and grip the cap and unscrew it.

The burn of isopropyl alcohol brings relief to myself, a reminder that I am still capable of feeling, even if it is pain. The smell of the semi toxic chemicals is a pleasant aroma to me after constant use of it, but I refuse to drink it. I will not allow myself to become the person my father has. Wasted away to numb the feeling of pain, that is not what I want to be.

Scabs cover my arms and legs, and the ripped fabric cloak is drenched in crusty dried blood. Scratches and scars shine through, and I grit my teeth to stop the internal scream from leaving my mouth as I rip my torn clothes off. Light-headedness and cloudiness stop my train of thought, and I sink into a crouch, heaving desperately to catch my breath. Anywhere further down my navel cannot support the weight of my body, and I succumb to the weakness. What pleasure or joy did Caleb get from this- raping me? My legs burn and a sheen of sweat appears on my forehead as I struggle to keep myself up.

An internal conflict takes place in me, a war raging on in my head. Never have I felt as lost as this, how can I cope with sexual assault by my own family? How am I supposed to get over the fact that my father does not give a damn, or that I do not have a motherly figure in my life?

About ten minutes pass, and I do not have an answer.

I turn the simple gray faucet to cold, and icy water splatters across my worn-out and abused body. If I were to have a mirror, the only reflection my eyes would see, is a girl with hollow cheeks, ghastly pale skin, stringy hair, and zigzagged lines cutting across my unpleasing skin. Years has it been since I have visited a doctor, Caleb makes sure of it. Meaning, there is no chance- no hope for a third party to be involved, and help me overcome this. I am all alone, and free to Caleb's torturous ways.

The stationary shampoo issued to every abnegation household, one per member, has no scent, unlike the vanilla and coconuts scented ones the amity girls would use. Or how they would talk about other items I have never even knew existed, seeming useless to me.

The water hits my back, in pain, and I do not writhe, or attempt to cover it. I welcome it.

Perhaps pain is something I crave, something I favor. Perhaps Caleb noticed it, and uses it to his advantage.

Nevertheless, I cannot afford to think like that, because I want to live to see a day where I no longer would have to worry about thinking about the consequences of my presence, or how to secure enough food to substantiate all three mandatory meals of the day, or how to fight off the nightmares that plague my mind. I want to live to see this all behind me, to see myself smiling and happy, and carefree.

The nightmares have always been there, but have dramatically increased over the past two years, still managing to terrify me despite the fact that they are just fragments of my imagination.

I see no hope, or light. But I yearn for it. I believe in it. Because what other choice do I have?

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><p>Judging by the light that pours into my bedroom, I perceive it to be close to noon, conceivably after twelve o'clock. It is too bright, so I turn away, but not before I reach over and pull the simplistic gray drapes closed. I don't remember opening them.<p>

The little energy that was present before diminishes, rest is much needed. I have no intentions of curling up into bed and dozing off, the event that day play back in my head. It happened in my bed.

I do not want to ever sleep in it again.

The covers are stained in the dark red liquid, a constant reminder of what he stole from me. My innocence.

In our household, everyone does their own chores, there has never been order in the house, and I have a significant amount of load to do, so I get to it. Stripping the bed and washing the sheets, were exceptionally hard, but I never shed a tear.

I will not waste any more feelings on the boy who appears in my nightmares, whose presence causes little shivers to go through me. In moments like these, I like to forget where I am, imagine I am in school, anywhere but near here. Imagining different scenarios play out in my head makes getting through the day, significantly easier.

The washer and dryer are on the main floor, and as of now, beyond my bedroom is a danger zone. I will not risk getting hurt by Caleb for something as stupid as doing the laundry. Instead, my other viable options include hand-washing the items in the sink, and I create a makeshift clothesline using my chair and tied belts.

Once the tarnished bed sheets are disposed of, I drag cleaner ones with me into the colder and safer environment of my bathroom, along with a few snacks, and spare clothes. Toweling the tub dry, I layer it with a comforter and sheets, and climb in, chowing down on one of the fruit bars I brought along with me. Worst case scenario, Caleb comes in and kicks the door down, but I silently pray he is too tired to do so when he returns from school.

The tiles are now an ugly worn-out gray color, with splotches of white in them. The grout has turned even darker, the dust trapped in causing it to lose its once white shade. Everything in abnegation seems to be gray, even the most simple things are adorned in the color. It was once calm and comforting to me, but now I can't stand to see it everywhere, my eyes, my clothes, and pretty soon my skin will be a little gray if I don't make it.

The whereabouts of my father are unknown. Most likely groveling somewhere else, or perched over a chair with an ice cold rag resting on his forehead to help him sober. Perhaps he is at a council meeting, discussing ways to help those of the factionless sector. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if Caleb and I never occur to him, if he keeps us stored away in a part of his mind and never worry over us.

My wrist watch lies on the counter adjacent my tub, and I reach out to see I was right in my prediction. A few more hours until Caleb arrives, which means a few hours to nap. Though naps are generally regarded as selfish as one could spend that time helping others, I find it harder to value the morals of the Abnegation as they turn a blind eye to me.

They must know. Everyone must have noticed by now, how I never changed in the locker room with the other girls, how the teachers see peaks and glimpses of my battered legs or arms when clothes sip up, or how I tend to walk stiff. I've realized, growing up, that the abnegation do not care for me, or Caleb, and it would not come as a surprise if I defected.

Reluctantly, I let my eyelids shut, unable to stop them any longer to prevent seeing the torturous nightmares that haunt me daily, and fall into a deep slumber.

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><p>At the crack of dawn, my simple gray alarm clock goes off with three beeps and automatically turns off. I yawn and stretch my arms over my head, but immediately grimace in pain, the events of the past few days weighing heavily on my mind in shock. Oh right. My stomach rumbles in hunger, and a foul taste contaminates my mouth, I need to brush my teeth. But standing up is unpleasant, let alone getting up.<p>

Slowly, I manage to sit upright, however my vision is a bit hazed, and my reflexes are unusually slow.

Thumps vibrate against my bedpost, signaling Caleb up and about, moving around in his room. Tonight, I am not so certain I will pass painlessly, but he can't stop me from attending my only safe place.

My eyes drift off to the peeling paint on the bathroom door, and only now do I remember that in fact, I am not in my room. I am in my bathroom. And those vibrations are coming from the door, the sound of Caleb's fists beating down on the flimsy wooden plane separating the two of us. I must have forgotten to "actually" lock my bedroom door when I barricaded myself in here.

Not answering will outrage him, and I do not want to cope with even more physical pain than I already have to, so I take a stance, still a bit wobbly on my feet, and swing the door open. My forehead comes face level to Caleb's shoulder, even now he is literally a giant in comparison with me. As soon as I expect a sting on my cheek or crack in my jaw, he simply walks off into his bedroom, leaving me picking up myself, wondering what just happened.


End file.
